Redemption Protocol (Contact)

by Mike Freeman

  “Until they’re mad?” Stone said.

  Ekker clutched at straws.

  “But we won’t die?”

  Leveque sounded grave.

  “If you suffer complete degeneration then you won’t know who you are, where you are or what you’re doing.”

  The crew reeled at the unexpected news. The bomb had been awful but everyone had thought they’d got away with it.

  Stephanie’s eyes flashed.

  “We’re dying? What the fuck is wrong with you, Darkwood!”

  Havoc thought he was the only person not shocked by his ex-fiancée’s outburst.

  Touvenay’s voice was curt.

  “We're not all dying. It appears that half of us, on average, are dying.”

  Bergeron spun round to look at Havoc.

  “We should never have chased him. You should have let us go!”

  Whittenhorn clasped his hands behind his back, trying to look like leadership material.

  “There is no point in panicking. We can hold those responsible in good time.”

  Havoc shook his head. He was still trying to get to grips with the situation. He looked at Leveque.

  “So over the next week you would expect...?”

  “An increasing number of us will exhibit some mix of symptoms including losing time, increased obsessive-compulsive behaviors, an inability to distinguish memories from the present, paranoia and an increased propensity to violence.”

  Bergeron’s hand covered her mouth.

  Fournier looked startled.

  “Good God.”

  “And we don’t know who? I mean, we can't predict?” Stephanie said.

  Leveque’s voice cracked.

  “No, we can't. Around half of us will make it. And some of you might be augmented in ways to protect you from this. I have no idea about that.”

  “We’re dying,” Ekker said.

  “This isn’t fair,” Stephanie said.

  Hwan shrugged.

  “This is fate. It's karma.”

  Stephanie looked appalled.

  “You think you deserve this?”

  Hwan clasped her hands in her lap. She didn’t answer.

  “Is there a protocol to deal with this?” Touvenay said.

  Leveque nodded.

  “The suggested process is to complete sanity checks and code everyone. Green is sane, amber is unreliable by reason of episodic insanity and red is a danger to yourself or others.”

  “What the fuck?” Ekker said.

  Leveque flung her hands up.

  “Please can we not swear! Please can we just try and be civilized?”

  “When?” Havoc said.

  “Tomorrow. We'll complete the sanity tests first thing.”

  Touvenay clasped his chin, looking thoughtful.

  “So our last chance to listen to music, read poetry or smell a flower could be in the next week or even today?”

  Leveque nodded.

  “This next week will be the last chance for around a third of us.”

  Leveque collapsed into tears. Weaver went to comfort her.

  “We’re dying,” Bergeron said.

  “God all seeing,” Jafari murmured.

  Everyone slumped in their seats, staring into space.

  “It’s a lottery,” Stephanie said.

  Abbott turned to Whittenhorn.

  “We have a saboteur onboard?”

  “It appears so.”

  Havoc sat forward.

  “Appears so?”

  “We don’t want to leap to conclusions.”

  “What?”

  “Please lower your voice, Mr Havoc; you are already on report for your assault on me earlier today.”

  “What?”

  A number of other people turned at this.

  Weaver looked bemused.

  “But he saved Brennen.”

  Whittenhorn nodded slowly.

  “Which would be excellent cover, of course.”

  Stephanie shook her head dismissively.

  “Oh, please.”

  Charles frowned deeply.

  “You're saying that someone here – one of us – is trying to kill us? Is that right?”

  Havoc nodded.

  “It’s likely someone in this room detonated Marsac.”

  “We should find them. We should stop at nothing,” Tomas said.

  Stephanie frowned.

  “But why would a saboteur put themselves in danger like that? So close to the explosion?”

  Tyburn shrugged.

  “Marsac detonated when he was about to talk privately with Brennen. Maybe the saboteur was worried about being exposed.”

  Leveque’s expression was aghast, her face streaked with tears.

  “Someone here is trying to kill us? Should we scan everyone?”

  Jafari shrugged.

  “It won't show anything.”

  “What about transmissions?” Charles said.

  Again, Jafari didn’t look optimistic.

  “We can try but a saboteur will be using relay transmitters. It won't show anything.”

  “Surely we should scan everyone anyway?” Bergeron said.

  Tyburn shook his head.

  “We can't scan for guilt. We can only scan for capability and that's irrelevant.”

  “So what can we do?” Abbott said.

  “Tear the ship apart,” Tomas said.

  Tyburn shook his head.

  “We monitor crew movement and wait for them to make a mistake.”

  Tomas snorted in disgust. Bergeron pointed at Havoc.

  “Or take preemptive action. Mr Havoc is a wanted criminal. Surely that matters in this situation.”

  Here we go again, Havoc thought.

  “You want to lock me up? You seriously think that would help?”

  Bergeron nodded.

  “It’s a start.”

  Darkwood tutted.

  “Havoc, along with Leveque, is the only person who didn't know he was coming on this mission.”

  Humberstone’s eyes narrowed.

  “Unless he is working with someone else, Darkwood.”

  Darkwood was unperturbed by the implication of Humberstone’s remark.

  “True.”

  Abbott leaned forward.

  “Let’s not descend in paranoia here. We don't want a witch hunt.”

  “Paranoia seems appropriate in the circumstances,” Touvenay observed.

  “We need to do something!” Kemensky said.

  Novosa frowned.

  “It could be anyone.”

  Charles looked at Tyburn.

  “We can discount some people, can't we? It's not going to be Ambassador Abbott, is it?”

  Tyburn pursed his lips.

  “Unless someone was subverted or substituted during storage.”

  Tomas frowned at Tyburn.

  “Like you, you mean?”

  Tyburn nodded.

  “Like anyone here.”

  Charles looked bewildered.

  “You think one of the people here might be an imposter?”

  Havoc answered.

  “All he means is that we shouldn't assume anyone is above suspicion. Any of us could have been subverted in any number of ways.”

  Jafari turned to Whittenhorn.

  “We might be able to scan for simple subversion.”

  Tyburn shook his head.

  “No saboteur with the backing to get on this ship will be caught by a scan. No way. It's a waste of time.”

  “What about movement tracks?” Intrepido said.

  Yamamoto shook her head.

  “There’s nothing incriminating.”

  Weaver looked horrified as the implications sank in.

  “We can't trust anyone here?”

  “I'm not sure I can live that way,” Leveque said.

  Bergeron gazed around with a mortified expression.

  “Someone in this room killed Marsac. Oh my God.”

  People looked at each other.

  �
��Who knew Marsac?” Stephanie said.

  “The security team drilled with him for a month before launch,” Tyburn said.

  “It doesn't mean anything,” Havoc said.

  Tyburn nodded his agreement.

  “We watch carefully and hope they make a mistake. Marsac was probably due to be used later.”

  Bergeron winced.

  “Used? Ugh. I can't stand the idea we have a murderer here.”

  Whittenhorn looked at Havoc.

  “We have more than one.”

  Havoc turned to Yamamoto.

  “Is there anything you want to do with movement around the ship?”

  Yamamoto shook her head.

  “No. The engines and bridge systems are already off limits. The key point of internal vulnerability is the spindle. And if they were going to blow the spindle...”

  “They'd have done it.”

  “Right.”

  Tyburn cleared his throat.

  “Given the threat this is a military mission now and should clearly be under security command.”

  Stephanie looked perplexed.

  “What?”

  “This is a military mission. We've been attacked.”

  Abbott shook his head.

  “This is not a military mission. Whittenhorn is in command.”

  Tyburn stood with a suitably military bearing.

  “With respect, we have a security situation requiring security action.”

  Humberstone glanced at Abbott.

  “That is true...”

  Tyburn tried again.

  “Whittenhorn, I want you to hand control over to me until we’ve dealt with this security situation. Please do so now.”

  Whittenhorn vacillated, struggling under such direct pressure.

  “Well...”

  Havoc thought Tyburn was pushing a little hard.

  “Just tell him no.”

  Whittenhorn shot Havoc a dirty look.

  “Don’t tell me what to do, Havoc.”

  Tyburn pressed his advantage.

  “Just until we have the situation resolved.”

  Abbott stood up.

  “A security incident means we’ve had a security failure. Security needs to put its own house in order before it attempts to expand its authority. The goals of the mission have not changed and those goals are diplomatic and scientific.”

  Whittenhorn nodded.

  “Mr Tyburn, I am in command.”

  “But––”

  “I am in command, Mr Tyburn.”

  “Of course, Commander.”

  Tyburn looked sour. Havoc thought that if Tyburn had got Whittenhorn alone he would be Acting Mission Lead now and Tyburn knew it.

  Havoc looked around the room. He had a strong intuition that something was wrong, but he couldn’t work out what it was. He tried to nurture it, but when he focused on it there was nothing there.

  He turned to their doctor.

  “Are you going to look in on Brennen tonight?”

  Chaucer nodded awkwardly. His voice was muddied with shock.

  “I’ll sleep in the room.”

  Havoc nodded, satisfied. He turned to Whittenhorn.

  “When do you want to reconvene?”

  Whittenhorn glanced at Abbott.

  “I suggest five hours,” Abbott said.

  Whittenhorn nodded.

  “We’ll reconvene in five hours.”

  Most people needed only two hours sleep to maintain psychological health and could go without for days with no significant deterioration. On the other hand, everyone had a lot of thinking to do. There was silence as people contemplated their own mortality.

  Novosa broke it.

  “I need a drink, a man and to hear Rubinstein playing Chopin's Op. twenty one.”

  There were shocked faces at the sheer bluntness of Novosa's statement.

  Novosa turned to Stone.

  “If you want some company, Stone, bring a bottle of that Margaux '89 to my cabin. We'll have a drink for Marsac.”

  32.

  A few hours later, Havoc stopped by the medical lab to look in on Brennen. He could have checked Brennen from anywhere on the ship, but he preferred to be there in person.

  Brennen was lying in a medstation that was continuously feeding, cleaning and treating him. A respirator rose and sank slowly with a rhythmical wheeze. True to his word, Chaucer was crashed out on a chair in the corner. Havoc didn't wake him.

  He tapped into Brennen's patient record. Brennen's physical condition was serious but stable. The brain diagnostics didn't look good. The body might be Brennen's but it was hard to know if Brennen himself would ever wake up. Havoc left.

  When he stepped into the Hub Hab, a coastal scene was displayed on the walls. In the image the Hub Hab was portrayed as the outdoor decking of a house by the ocean. Far out on the water, a tiny yacht was beating against the wind. The sensory experience was completed by ambient sounds of the ocean and light airs that carried the scent of salt air. These kinds of effects often positively affected morale on extended missions. Today, Havoc doubted they would make any difference.

  For him, one of the saddest things about the murder of Marsac was the lack of personal impact. No one on the ship had really known Marsac. Without intending disrespect, and no matter how they might try otherwise, Marsac would be quickly forgotten, particularly given they had a saboteur on board and the tettraxigyiom contamination to deal with. Death was always more about the survivors than the person that was gone. They hadn't known Marsac so what did it matter? It was brutal but that didn't mean it wasn't true. The parallels with Havoc’s own life and situation were depressing.

  Breakfast was a subdued affair. After making coffee for everyone, Fournier retreated into the diary room for a long time. Messages for his family, perhaps each of his kids, Havoc thought. He felt a little twist as he sipped his coffee. There was not a single person for him to leave a message to. Leveque went inside after Fournier. Same thing, Havoc guessed. People would be filing in and out all day.

  The impact of the contamination had hit hard. In general, for anyone above low standard, death was something that humanity had dealt with – an avoidable health condition. Once you had suitable augmentation, fatal accidents and incidents were rare and there was almost nothing that couldn't be healed. The idea of an untreatable health condition was so unusual as to be unthinkable, particularly for those from wealthy areas – humanity was supposed to be past that point. It was hard to come to terms with, particularly for non-military crew who would almost never experience death otherwise. And, of course, the uncertainty about who exactly would be affected by the tettraxigyiom contamination was corrosive.

  Havoc could see the mission unraveling if the situation wasn't carefully handled. If the crew decided to just sit around and wait to see who made it and who didn’t, he envisioned cabin fever setting in fast. Morale was brittle. The whole thing could easily fall apart.

  People were trying to work out if they were going mad. After trying to analyze your own thoughts for a few minutes, evaluating continuously if you were going mad, you probably were going mad. Constantly probing at your consciousness, your mood and your reasoning to try and reassure yourself that you are still the same person you were five minutes ago was not a recipe for sound mental health. Ultimately, for around half of them, they would realize at the onset that things were not quite right, without knowing if their condition would stop there, mildly damaged, or if they would continue their descent into complete madness.

  Their quality of leadership would make a huge difference as to whether they got through this. Havoc looked over at Whittenhorn and sighed. No point trying to predict the future, he thought, it comes soon enough.

  Touvenay sat near him with a book in his hand. Physical books were inefficient, of course, but everyone had a discretionary weight allowance to use as they saw fit – that was the point.

  Touvenay looked at him over the top of the open book and read aloud.

  “Of all t
he wonders that I yet have heard,

  It seems to me most strange that men should fear;

  Seeing that death, a necessary end,

  Will come when it will come.”

  Havoc nodded.

  Stone came over with his breakfast on a tray.

  “You guys know how Brennen is?”

  By which Stone meant, has anyone actually looked in on him?

  Havoc nodded.

  “I put my head in. He's stable, physically improving. His brain is damaged.”

  “He's gone?”

  “It's hard to know until he's conscious.”

  Jafari sat near them and soon afterward Hwan joined their table. Weaver sat at the far end. The room gradually shifted from individuals to groups. Stone glanced around the room.

  “Quite a lot to think about.”

  Havoc nodded. Stone was the kind of guy to verbalize it all. Stone spoke to think, the ideas emerging from his mouth half-formed. If they made sense to Stone when he said them, then he was content that was what he thought. If not, he said something else.

  Touvenay set his book down.

  “I have decided not to descend into madness.”

  Stone looked confused.

  “But how will you know?”

  “If I believe I am losing my faculties I shall arrest the process while I still understand it and myself.”

  Weaver looked horrified.

  “You cannot mean suicide?”

  Touvenay did not react.

  “Really?” Jafari said.

  “What if you're wrong?” Havoc said.

  Touvenay sighed.

  “True, but I wish my final act to be a conscious one, with me at the helm so to speak.”

  “It's wrong,” Weaver said.

  Jafari looked worried.

  “It's wrong in my faith.”

  “But not in mine,” Touvenay said, “I would act on my final right.”

  Tyburn grunted from the next table.

  “It's a coward’s way out.”

  “I see it as a bold choice,” Touvenay rebutted.

  “It's illegal,” Humberstone said.

  Touvenay laughed.

  “There is nothing more obvious to me than my own unassailable title over my own life. How I choose to dispose of it is my choice.”

  Tyburn stopped eating and turned to Touvenay.